Welcome to My World
by Out-0fThe-Blue
Summary: This happen right after the last episode of season 2. Reddington and Liz are on the run. They need to hide and they will spend some time to talk... With a fluffy and angsty Lizzington end. It's a six chapters story. Thanks a lot to my Beta Thefirstfewchapters who corrected all my English mistakes and more. I don't own Reddington, though it's on my to do list.
1. Chapter 1

ooooo Chapter 1 ooooo

Reddington was staring blankly into space. He tried to concentrate on the rest of the journey, but deep inside he was totally shattered. Ever since he had been forced to leave his family, so many years ago, he had been in control of everything. He had shouldered the life of a criminal with ease from the very beginning, knowing that he had to work towards the precise goal he had in mind: lives to protect, even if his own life suffered as a consequence. Everything was planned. Everything but this ... He had failed on this one point: Lizzie. The more he thought he was acting in her best interests, the more all that he had set up to protect her had crumbled around him. Getting close to her had been the start of the collapse. Liz's memories coming back, and her being framed by the Cabal, had been the final disintegration of all he had hoped to achieve.

But even though everything was going wrong with Liz, and the Alliance was more dangerous than ever, he had, at least, a plan to get them both safely out of the country.

When Liz put her head on his shoulder, she felt him give an almost imperceptible start. It was the first time she had found his presence reassuring. Her mind was completely disturbed by all that had just happened. The gunshot that killed Connolly had changed her life forever without providing any new answer about her past. She had fired without even thinking about the consequences; to protect Cooper, and, above all, to protect Reddington. But also with a desire for revenge that had left her with a bitter taste in her mouth. Killing Connolly was her last step into a universe of fear and uncertainty the likes of which she had never experienced before.

Knowing that she had killed her father when she was four years old just added to her horror; she was even more worried to know more about what had happened that night. She was now regretting not having followed Tom on his boat. The boat … the hope for a new life. He seemed willing to protect and help her. Even clearing her name was not such a big deal; for the last two years she had spent most of her time surrounded by people living completely under the radar, switching identities at will. Of course, Tom had changed, he was not the man she had loved and she would have to get to know Jacob, someone who was unstable, searching for his past and his true identity ... just like her. Did she really want to know where she came from? She had spent more than twenty-five years without the faintest idea about her true identity and everything had been fine with her world. But now ...

A couple of hours after the van picked them up, it stopped close to a shed in the middle of the countryside.

'We've arrived,' Reddington said. 'No private jet this time, Lizzie. The Alliance has been hunting me down for far too long; I've had to activate an emergency plan. This plane will fly us across the Atlantic and take us to Croatia, where I have a villa. The journey will probably be quite bumpy. We'll be able to rest and work out a plan when we get there.'

'What about Dembe?' she asked.

'Don't worry. He and Mr. Kaplan have some business to deal with here, then they'll join us later,' he reassured her. 'But we need to leave now.'

'What are we going to do there?'

'To tell the truth, I don't have a plan yet. But the game isn't over. I threw some cards onto the table and the Cabal's reaction won't be nice. We must leave.'

'I shouldn't have …'

'But you did. We all have an inner instinct. Yours brought you here … We'll get through this, trust me.'

'Knowing that I killed my father is worse than having shot Connolly.'

'I know ... I wanted to protect you from that ... from ... all this ... Lizzie, we have to go; we'll talk about everything later.'

The flight went well, although Red hadn't been joking about the lack of comfort. The plane was a small transport aircraft and they ended up sitting on temporary seats, well hidden between rows of wooden boxes. Concealed like the fugitives they were.

oooooOOOooooo

They were both exhausted when they finally arrived in Croatia. Liz had pictured a nice villa on a desert island, but instead it was lost somewhere in the wild countryside.

'I do have a villa by the sea, and it's quite nice …' said Reddington. 'But for now, we have to keep a rather low profile.'

The house was cozy and well maintained. It looked as if it was inhabited. Reddington gave her a grand tour of the residence; there was enough room for an army. Four bedrooms, a large living room with a piano, a nice kitchen … and a cat. The cat with the red collar from the weird little apartment in Bethesda.

'What is he doing here?' she asked.

'I take him wherever I can. His presence is relaxing … and he's very independent.'

The cat came to weave in and out between her legs.

'He's stubborn and lonesome, Dembe calls him Raymond …' he sighed.

'And he seems to like to be cuddled,' she added.

The tour continued, revealing a fitness room in the attic, and last but not least, a large terrace. Reddington was describing the surroundings when his vision suddenly became blurred. He leaned against the wall as his head started to spin, feeling as if he was about to faint. Lizzie reacted quickly and caught hold of him just as he looked like he was about to fall; she helped him to the sofa and made him lie down. He was pale and had trouble talking. 'I … haven't eaten for the last twenty-four hours … there must be something in the fridge … '

She rushed to the kitchen; the fridge was full. All seemed well prepared so that they could stay for several days. She brought back a large glass of sweet fruit juice and helped him to get rid of his jacket, waistcoat, tie … his habit of wearing tons of clothes like one would do to go skiing was a pain in the ass and much too warm for a Croatian Summer climate, in Lizzie's opinion. No wonder he was half-fainting.

Once he was lying down, he seemed to recover a little, but he looked more shattered than he had been after he was shot a few weeks earlier. This fainting episode was clearly not just a result of a low blood sugar level.

'Lizzie, I'm sorry …' He stopped, searching for words. 'You, here, sharing my life as a fugitive, it's not what I wanted … not at all.'

'This is not the time, Red.'

But he didn't want to stop. He drew upon his last energy reserves. 'The Cabal … they misled me when I was a counterintelligence rookie. I was famous for my skills in being able to hunt down the "red enemies" from the USSR. I found out how the Cabal were operating and naively tried to threaten them. Their revenge has been dreadful.'

He was out of breath but couldn't seem to help going on. For once, it appeared that he had to talk. He had to talk to _her_.

'Because of your … past, your … parents, you were also in great danger. Most of the people who were there the night of the fire paid for it with their lives. Your parents weren't able to protect you, so I did. With Sam's help. Now, all the terrible things I wanted to save you from are happening ... You're becoming ... like me ... you threatened the Alliance, they framed you and now you need to run… I failed, Lizzie.'

He paused. Staring blankly at the ceiling. Liz stayed still, she didn't dare say a word.

'I was so bloody pretentious; I believed I could control everything. I spent two decades trying to understand how their criminal network was operating; trying to protect myself, protect you, protect so many other people ... The Alliance had destroyed my life. I lost everything: all those I held most dear, my friends, my family ... The only way I could survive was to become what they wanted me to be: a criminal … who must kill to live, steal to eat. I accumulated millions, not because of pure greed but just to be able to take my place and control this clandestine universe. With that money, I was able to help Sam raise you, and to help Dembe and others. But I also jeopardised your lives more than I ever imagined I would. With you, my biggest mistake was to hire Tom. I hate him ... but not as much as I hate myself for hiring him. I thought I had to influence your life ... protect you ... control everything ...'

His voice was breaking and his words cut off as he started to sob. Liz could see tears in his eyes. He was crying ... angry with himself, clearly tired to the point of exhaustion, feeling useless and dangerous for all people he loved and was close to him.

It was clear that he was at the end of his tether and needed a rest. Every word seemed to cause him considerable pain. She had been waiting so long for the moment when he would confide in her, but, somehow, she realised that this, now, had to stop. He was exhausted.

'I understand,' she said.

'We need …'

'I understand! Red, please, let's stop here for now. I'm dead tired and … you seem exhausted as well.'

'You're right…'

'Is there a bedroom I can use?'

'Take your pick, Lizzie, we're here for some time.'

'And please, have a rest.'

'I'll try …'

Liz glanced at him, full of compassion. His eyes were full of sadness. She headed to the bedrooms, still heavily shocked by all that he had just said.

The first bedroom was nicely decorated. Some clothes were lying on the bed, all her size, as if she was expected. It was both disturbing and comforting. She lay down on the bed and closed her eyes.

Though she was exhausted, she just couldn't seem to fall asleep; the stockpile of emotions from the past few days were spinning round in her head. After a while, she decided to get up and look around the rest of the apartment. The next room was very sober, although she found the cat curled up comfortably on the bed. The third room had walls covered with shelves on which there were hundreds of books. This room reminded her a lot of the apartment in Bethesda; there was a collection of art books from all over the world and a lot of publications in Russian ... she was overtaken by a strange feeling that if she gave it enough thought she would be able to decipher the titles.

She took a book down from the shelf out of curiosity.

'Lizzie, no! Don't go in there!'

Reddington's voice resounded through the flat.

Startled, Lizzie made her way back to the living room to see what was wrong. But he wasn't talking to her. Or, at least, not the real her that was present in the flat. He was asleep on the sofa, haunted by a bad dream.

She moved to his side and instinctively placed her hand on his shoulder to try and calm him down. It appeared to work as he leaned against her hand and seemed soothed. She remained beside him for a long time, watching him sleep. She had never known a man so emotionally damaged, and she was feeling more and more guilty that she had rejected him when she had believed that he was using her for his own selfish ends.

Why hadn't he told her earlier? The sin-eater ... his words started to make sense. It was neither a biblical reference nor a mystical power Reddington was boasting about. It was one more of his the Cabal had done to him must have been out of imagination. They had wrecked his life. He had become that hideous Mexican fish, living in a dark cave ... they had shattered him to the point that he had had nothing left to lose. He had become a fierce beast ready to kill to defend those he deeply loved or had sworn to protect. He was doing the dirty work, darkening his own soul to keep others pure. He had become a monster… at least in appearance.

Lost in her thoughts, Liz finally fell asleep, sitting beside the sofa. Her hand gradually slipped from his shoulder but he seemed to sense her continued comforting presence for he cried out in his sleep no more that night.


	2. Chapter 2

ooooo Chapter 2 ooooo

A burning smell woke Reddington.

Liz hadn't slept for long and, feeling hungry, she had gone to the kitchen hoping to find some pre-cooked meals in the fridge. She couldn't imagine Reddington cooking and, as the person who had prepared the apartment seemed to know him quite well, she assumed that there would be ready-made meals provided. Instead, unfortunately, all she found was a wide assortment of fresh food; she was spoilt for choice but that was no help whatsoever as her cooking skills were, to put it mildly, really quite limited. She finally decided to attempt spaghetti in a simple home-made tomato and onion sauce.

It was shortly after starting to create her culinary masterpiece that the onions ended up as a carbonised mess in the bottom of the pan!

'Lizzie ...' said a voice behind her.

Reddington was standing in the kitchen doorway, one hand on the wall. With his half unbuttoned, rumpled shirt, he looked as disarrayed as she had ever seen him. Even down to the fact that he was standing there in his socks, his shoes having clearly been discarded at some earlier point. He was rubbing his hand over the top of his head as if he still had long hair.

Liz stood still, speechless, for some seconds before she found her voice.

'Oh, Red … I … are you feeling better?'

'Yes, I slept like a baby. I can't remember the last time that happened.'

'It didn't look like that … you were quite agitated at times. '

'I'm usually a restless sleeper and I never sleep for long. But this time ...'

Liz stayed still.

'So, ' he said, changing the subject, 'what are you preparing'

'Well … Nick's Pizza wasn't available so … I tried to improvise.'

Her embarrassed smile was like a ray of sunshine after all that had happened during the previous few days.

'I see,' he laughed. 'Don't worry, Lizzie. We're not going to starve, I love cooking.'

'Seriously?'

'Sure, do you have some doubt?'

'Sure, don't you believe me?'

'Well … no … '

'It's true that during the last two years we've rarely shared a meal together; there was that lovely experience at the restaurant in Montreal but we were rudely interrupted before we had chance to order any food ... However, I'll have you know that, when the occasion allows, Dembe has prepared some delicious dishes and I have been known to lend a hand. I'm sure I could do the whole thing myself, to be honest, but he does so love to play chef.'

'He's like a mother to you!'

'Let's say more like a brother!'

'And you often say that you don't have any friends. Dembe, Mr. Kaplan, they're always there for you.'

'I pay them for that …'

'Nobody acts like they do just to earn a salary.'

'… Right …' He suddenly seemed embarrassed. Of course they were more than simple employees. They had become his friends, his family. He had only them … and now, he also had her. 'So, what about this spaghetti?'

Someone would really have to be starving to want to eat what ended up on their dinner table. It was far too salty and had a rather fulsome burnt flavour. Sadly, it was clear that, although Reddington absolutely loved cooking, and obviously enjoyed looking the part as he flourished the pans around like a cordon bleu chef and attacked the ingredients with panache, he had a rather inflated opinion of his culinary skills. Looking at the less than appealing results of his cooking he ruefully admitted that, of the two of them, possibly Dembe was the better chef.

'Still,' he said with a wide grin, looking a bit guilty, 'we're here for some time. We'll be able to get in plenty of practice!'

Lizzie looked down at her plate. 'Till Dembe comes and rescue us ...'

'Well ... I suppose that's one way of looking at the situation,' he admitted, ruefully.

After lunch, Lizzie headed to the terrace for a nap in one of the deck chairs while Reddington busied himself cleaning up in the kitchen. When he finally went outside to join her, she was already asleep. Quietly, he took a seat a little to one side and watched her through his tinted sunglasses.

She reminded him of his family. Of his daughter, who would be almost the same age as Lizzie. He had so few memories of her, and no keepsakes because he had been forced to leave everything behind when he fled. The photos of Liz as a child that he had found in Sam's possessions had brought back regrets about all that he had missed with his own daughter. All the birthdays, all the happiness and, yes, all the sorrows, too, that he should have shared with his family.

But now, Lizzie was not a little girl anymore; she was a woman with a strong personality. She reminded him of his ex-wife who had been about the age Liz was now when he had had to abandon her.

But above all, Liz reminded him of her mother ... That was what perturbed him; that confusing mixture of feelings. He had felt them swirling inside him since they first met at the Post Office. He remembered the little girl and yet was confronted with a grown up woman. A woman who was strong and determined, volatile and unpredictable, soft and yet hard, and then soft again, possessed of a fire that burned inside; he smiled sadly, as he remembered how he had used those very words to describe her to Sam.

The more he had got to know her, the more he had found himself falling under her spell. She was what was missing in his life, she was what he had lost, she was all that he ever wanted to make his life complete; and yet ... now that he had her here by his side it was terrifying. He had dreamt about this very scenario so many times, but to have it happen in reality was ... frightening. He found himself scared to get too close to her, scared to meet her gaze, scared to touch her and see her walk away, again.

So he had to control himself, at all times. And he hadn't realised how hard it would be. To be so close to her, twenty-four hours a day. She was the reason why he was still alive; she was now the reason why he wanted to live.

When Liz woke up, Reddington was lying in the chair on the other side of the terrace reading a book.

'Shall we go for a walk?' she asked.

He was clearly pleased by the request and they began to stroll together through the grounds surrounding the house.

The area was really wild and remote. 'We can truly claim to be cut off from the real world,' Red explained. 'We don't need to contact anyone because everything has been planned for in advance. I didn't want to take any risks.'

Liz was worried. 'What are we going to do here, all alone?'

'Oh,' Red laughed, 'if you're scared about staying with me on your own, don't worry. Dembe will come and join us soon. And there's a Scrabble game and other puzzles to keep us busy …'

'That's so perfect! I also brought my knitting kit, it's gonna be a gas!'

Liz stared at Reddington, and they both burst out laughing.

It felt so good to laugh and to forget, even for a short time, all that had happened.

Red's face sobered. 'On a more serious note, we do have to work at a training programme. Much as I know I'm going to hate it, Dembe has devised some gym exercises, and, in addition, we need to spend some time studying the Alliance's strategies. We can't count on the Task Force anymore, so we have to be as prepared as we can be for what is facing us.'

'It's hard to believe that we haven't got the backing of the Task Force any longer.'

He nodded. 'I know. But, they'll have to hunt us down. We're their enemies now ... At least for the foreseeable future. Donald and Aram will probably not put their hearts and souls into things, and Samar will be okay as well. However, I'm worried about what might happen to Harold; but we'll know more about that in a few days.'

He paused. Birds were singing in the bushes close by but otherwise the place was bathed in near perfect peaceful silence.

'In the meantime, there's lots of interesting books to read and miles of pleasant walks to explore. I totally recommend the stunning view from the top of the hill over there. Do you fancy a gentle hike? It's really not as far as it looks.'

He smiled at her encouragingly and, before she had time to reply, reached for her hand to lead her in the direction of the suggested viewpoint. It was only when Lizzie looked down that he realised what he had done; dropping her hand he all but stammered an apology.

Red followed her quietly. He had just acted on instinct and with an enthusiasm brought on by the moment. He just wanted ... what did he want? He wasn't sure. Except breathing healthy lungs full of clean, fresh air and sharing a quiet moment with her; precious time, before they had to think about what was waiting for them in the real world. Before reality caught up with them. Which would, he knew, happen all too soon.

Still not fully recovered from his injury, Reddington was starting to feel tired when they reached the top. Lizzie was ahead and she froze when she reached the viewpoint. To say that they were far from civilisation was putting it mildly ... there wasn't another house for miles! She shivered; it was beautiful and yet scary at the same time.

'So,' said Reddington, catching up, out of breath, 'was it worth the hike?'

Liz didn't reply.

'What's wrong?'

'Nothing, it's … gorgeous.'

He could feel the anxiety in her voice. 'What's wrong, Lizzie?'

'Nothing it's just that … there's nothing …'

It wasn't the seemingly infinite landscape that frightened her. It was the sudden realisation that she had had to leave everything to do with her past life behind; her life was now a landscape as empty as the one she surveyed. She tried to hide her tears, but Reddington quickly understood what was happening and what she was feeling.

He suddenly regretted suggesting the walk to the summit. 'I'm sorry, Lizzie. This was not a good idea.'

'It's okay, Red, it's beautiful,' she said, sobbing quietly. But, after a pause, she added, 'I'm just not sure I'll be able to handle all of this ... this new life. I'm not sure if I'm strong enough to face the Cabal. I don't even know if I want to ...'

Their short idyllic interlude was over. She was back facing the brutal reality of her situation. Reddington would not be able to divert her from things any longer.

Gently, he took her by the shoulder, trying to offer reassurance.

But he could not lie to her; things were not going to get any easier from now on.

With sadness, mixed with a hint of bitterness and laced through with regret, he said quietly, 'Welcome to my world ...'

oooooooooo

 _To be continued..._


	3. Chapter 3

ooooo Chapter 3 ooooo

He thought of her words as she had looked at the empty landscape ... 'There's nothing.'

Nothing.

The word resounded in Reddington's head. He had always wanted the best for Liz and now he seemed only to be able to offer her the worst. He was being forced to take her with him and to convince her that she should continue to fight at his side; that it was worth the effort and she should not give up. He had to give her at least a little hope ... but, hope for what?

For him, the situation hadn't really changed. He was used to looking over his shoulder all the time and being consumed by a swirling mess of feelings which included desperately needing to survive, needing to seek vengeance and, above all, needing to protect those he loved.

But what was left for her? What did she have?

Together they had to focus on what was important for them both in the near future: trying to end the Cabal.

If she could just focus her attention and energies on that, maybe it would help her forget the emptiness that was threatening to swallow her.

Liz's silence began to make him feel uncomfortable. She was usually quite chatty, sometimes rather more than he cared for, to be honest, although he loved the sound of her voice.

Now, listening to her silence, he felt completely useless.

After they got back to the villa he proposed to prepare the dinner.

'I'm not really hungry, … ' she replied.

'I understand… How about a glass of whisky on the terrace?'

She nodded silently. A drink was a good idea. It would help her forget; at least for tonight.

Getting out the tumblers he prepared the drinks and put a few olives in a dish to accompany things. As he sat beside her he struggled to think of a way to break the heavy silence that had settled around them. He would dearly like to know what she was thinking about but somehow couldn't find the words to ask. And Liz just sat drinking and then pouring herself another glass. And another one. He suddenly realised what was going on. She wanted to get drunk; and it was all going to end very badly if he didn't stop her. Gently he placed his hand over hers as she reached for the bottle to pour herself another refill.

'Maybe that's enough for tonight?'

'It's you who proposed it, Ray.'

Ray ...

... He had dreamt about the day she would call him by his first name. But not like this. Not that way …

'Just one glass!' she insisted.

'It's the fourth …'

'As long as I can still think clearly it's not enough. '

'Lizzie, trust me, it's not going to change anything. You'll just have an awful hangover tomorrow morning.'

'So what …?'

So what, indeed. There was nothing he could say in response to that question. So nothing, Lizzie, get drunk if you enjoy it. He should probably encourage her to get as drunk as possible. It would block out what was happening, even if it was only for a few short hours. After all, how many times had he done exactly that? Alone in a luxury hotel room.

A deep sadness threatened him as he watched her. He was about to do the same, but he didn't, and just finished the olives as she sipped her fourth glass of scotch. The sight of her getting more and more drunk was beginning to make him feel sick. He wanted to close his eyes and shut out the sad sight. But, instead, he forced himself to watch. Because the whole thing was his fault. _He_ was to blame. Not her. Sitting there with the evidence of his failure right in front of him, he truly and utterly hated himself; in a way that he never had before.

Suddenly, Liz stood up. She was surprisingly steady on her feet. The look of anger she gave him chilled him to the bone.

In a second, she grabbed his tie and the front of his shirt collar, forcing him to stand or be strangled. She pushed him fiercely back against the terrace wall. The alcohol was clearly fuelling her strength, added to the fact that Red refused to resist or fight back in any way.

He felt the impact jar the barely healed exit wound in his back and heard himself grunt with pain. The pressure against his chest was making it hard to breathe and time slowed down.

He let her do as she wished. Guilt swilled inside him, stirred up like silt from the bottom of a river bed by the sight of the confusion and anguish in her eyes. He wanted her to beat him up, to make him pay for all her suffering, physically. He deserved it.

He choked.

The pain was spiking through his ribs and he could feel the blood beating in time with his heart as it pounded against his barely healed wound. Unable to hold her stare any more, afraid that she would see the pain he was feeling, he turned his head away.

She slackened the pressure suddenly.

Air burnt down into his starved lungs which had been crying out for oxygen.

He coughed repeatedly, unable to stop, and finally kneeled down using the wall for support. Nausea clawed at his insides and he didn't dare look up at her.

Liz looked down and it was as if a fog cleared from her brain. Reddington was hunched at her feet like a wounded animal and she realised what she had just done. He hadn't even tried to defend himself at all. He had just let her attack him; she could have killed him and he would not have raised a hand to resist. She realised that he would have just let her do it.

She took a step back, scared of herself. A second step. Turned and ran away.

He struggled desperately to stand up and catch his breath. It was dusk, and he only had a vague idea which direction Liz had taken as she ran away. He stumbled awkwardly, struggling to gather lungfuls of air as he tried to run but he was really unsure where she had gone. A helpful ray of moonlight prevented him from colliding with obstacles until he finally stopped moving.

Gradually his raw and rasping breaths quietened and he became aware of a soft moaning sound away to the side. Looking closer, he found Liz stretched out in the dirt, weeping. One of her arms was scratched and bleeding.

Without saying a word he knelt down beside her and carefully lifted her into his arms. Gently he hugged her against his chest as if he wanted to prevent her from leaving. But she had neither the strength nor the slightest envy to do so.

She couldn't understand why he had followed her; not after what she had done to him.

Eventually Reddington managed to get her back to the villa. He helped her to her room and got her to lie on the bed while he fetched a first aid kit so that he could disinfect her scratched arm.

She let him do everything. When she wanted to talk he softly pressed a finger on her lips, there was nothing to say. He understood why she did that and needed no explanation. No apologize. He was even wondering why it hadn't happened earlier. He deserved every seconds of that evening.

He sat beside her until she fell asleep and then made his way back to the terrace where he lay in a deck chair looking up at the stars.

He missed Dembe. He was always there to comfort him when things went wrong.


	4. Chapter 4

ooooo Chapter 4 ooooo

Reddington barely slept that night. His nightmares were back but he was used to them. What he couldn't bear was hearing Liz's restlessness. She was yelling out in her sleep, even crying at times. Her sobbing was heartbreaking. But he didn't dare enter her room. He wanted to reassure her but he wasn't certain he could help. After all, he knew who was to blame for her nightmares.

When Liz woke up her body was aching and tired. Her brain felt like it had been sawn in two, the skin on her left arm was scratched raw and the muscles in her right arm felt stretched and sore as if they had been twisted out of shape while she slept.

Recollections of the previous night's events crawled back into her mind: the need to get drunk; her anger, despair and frustration, and then her attack on Reddington. It was as if another Elizabeth Keen had taken over her body and mind. One that she didn't recognise.

And ... why hadn't he stopped her? Why hadn't he defended himself?

Nothing made any sense.

She stood up, putting on a sweater and pyjama pants, and opened the door just as Reddington was passing by.

"I'm so sorry …," she said when she saw him.

"Breakfast is served!"

"I don't know why …"

"Hurry up, it's going to cool off!"

He totally ignored what she had tried to say and continued on his way to the kitchen. The smell of warm croissants teased her nose and she finally stepped out of her room to follow him.

He was waiting in front of the table where all was set up for breakfast. There were delicious looking fresh croissants, a loaf of bread and jars of what looked like home-made marmalades.

"Tea or coffee? Do you want an omelette with bacon? What do you like for your breakfast?"

"I ... coffee, just a coffee. What is … all this? "

"I thought you'd be hungry," he said, tilting his head to the side in his familiar fashion and smiling. "It's preheated food. Have a seat, I'm going to finish preparing things."

He pulled out a chair and invited her to sit down before heading back to the kitchen. She thought, he's not said a word about last night, he's behaving as if nothing happened. A few minutes later he came back with mugs of tea and coffee.

"Red …"

"The marmalades are delicious, you should try them. The quince one is to die for!"

"... I don't want to …"

"Eat, Lizzie, please, take a bite, " he begged her. "We'll have plenty of time to talk about other things later. "

She forced herself to bite into a croissant, then, less reluctantly, she took a couple more mouthfuls and added some marmalade; slowly, as the flavours filled her mouth, her appetite began to return. The marmalades were indeed truly delightful.

Reddington stared at her happily, clearly pleased to see her eating and hopefully gathering some strength.

After breakfast, she helped him clear the table and started to put the dishes in the dishwasher. It was as she was passing him, plates in hand, that she noticed the bluey-black bruise on his chest, only half hidden by his casually unbuttoned shirt. Putting down the plates, she reached out with her hand.

"Red, did I do this?"

He stepped back to avoid her touch and quickly buttoned his shirt.

"Red ..." His mouth quirked at the edges. "Yesterday evening you called me Ray," he teased.

"Yesterday evening I was drunk and I almost killed you …" She hesitated and then added, "… Ray … "

"You see? It sounds far less frightening this way."

The wide smile that had been stuck on his face all morning was unsettling her. As if all that had happened the night before had never happened. She looked down at where the bruise would be beneath his now fastened shirt.

"It's nothing Lizzie, just a small bruise; I've had a lot worse, believe me. Although ... you do have quite a grip," he added, laughing.

"I never wanted to hurt you … I don't know what happened to me … "

"It was well deserved."

"Deserved? Is that why you didn't stop me?"

"Lizzie you have a predisposition to violence in certain situations. Do you remember the Warrior Gene? You have it and it's a reaction you can have, and something that you need to learn to manage."

"Alcohol can trigger it?"

"Tiredness and despair yes, alcohol perhaps. And ... you certainly have enough reasons to want to beat me up or ... just punish me." He paused, before adding, "And I was ashamed enough to let you do it."

"Ray, ashamed of what?"

How could he tell her?

He was ashamed of so much.

Ashamed of putting everyone around him in danger.

Ashamed that he was, in fact, worse than the monster she had called him.

And, most of all, ashamed that he could not make her life happy.

He stayed still.

"Ashamed of what?" she repeated.

"It's not important, Lizzie. I'm at your disposal if you need a punching bag," he said with a smile, trying to ease the situation.

"What if I had killed you?"

"You'd have had some trouble contacting Mr Kaplan from here."

She could have made him suffer, much harder and he would have let her do this to him. But not kill him, he hadn't spent the last 25 years making her forget a crime and now let her commit a new one. Now he just wanted her to smile and stop asking herself so many questions.

She could have made him suffer far more than she had, she could have been more violent and punished him much more, and he would have let her. He would not have stopped her.

Although, he would not have let her kill him. He hadn't spent the last twenty-five years ensuring that she did not remember a terrible deed she had committed just to let her commit another one when he was able to prevent it.

Now he just wanted to distract her. He needed her to smile. He needed her to stop asking herself so many questions.

"Look, if you're interested, I have some books about the Warrior Gene. Why don't you get dressed and I'll get them."

After she had changed out of her pyjamas she joined him in his bedroom where he had a large bookshelf crammed full of books and where the red-collared cat was curled up comfortably on his bed.

He took two volumes down from the shelf and put them on the bed. "This one," he tapped one with a forefinger, "is the most interesting." She looked at the title and noted that it was in Cyrillic.

"… Ген воина," she said deciphering the words on the cover.

He looked at her attentively, seemingly not at all surprised to hear her pronounce the title correctly in Russian. He smiled as she looked startled at her own ability.

"How is it possible that I can read Russian?"

"Your mother must have taught you to read it."

"I was barely four when I lost my parents!"

"You were quite precocious, I'm not really surprised. Try for yourself and see if you understand more. It's your mother tongue after all."

She browsed through the first pages. Words were not coming as easily as in English but she clearly had some skill in reading the foreign characters which didn't seem as strange to her as she would have thought. Before he let her go on reading further on her own, he did a small summation of what he knew about the Warrior Gene.

"This gene is regarded as a giving a person a predisposition to violence. It's quite rare amongst women and transmitted through the parents. Your mother had it. But having it doesn't automatically mean a person is going to be violent. A single gene cannot explain everything, it's a bit more complex than that. Each person is unique and will have personal trigger. Abuse or some other shocking event during childhood is a major one."

Liz didn't need him to explain any further to understand that her childhood contained the necessary criteria to push her into the violence associated with the gene.

"Is there a way to channel that violence? To control it?" she asked.

"That book gives some tips. It's not been written to contain the violent reactions but to … exploit them. That's what makes it special. But you'll quickly understand that it's possible to use these methods to avoid the worse."

He left the room without adding more. He didn't want to scare her. Controlling the gene's effects was going to be extremely difficult but, as long as he could be close to her, he knew what signs to watch out for and how to help her.

That was maybe the only reason he had to remain with her.

He was some sort of blessing in disguise.

A heavily disguised blessing but some sort of blessing, nevertheless.


	5. Chapter 5

_Thanks to my Beta Thefirstfewchapters for all the work on that chapter and for the cat come back ;)_

oooo Chapter 5 oooo

During the next few days they put some rules in place. Reddington wanted to keep Lizzie as busy as possible so that she didn't feel bored or trapped because he was hoping to stay at the villa for several weeks. He was quite at ease with being on the run but that was not the case with Liz, who was struggling with the situation in general.

So ... he needed to keep her busy!

The rules were simple and followed a precise daily program. There was exercise in the morning and in the afternoon they studied the Alliance's strategies. It was enough to keep them both busy. And he insisted on no alcohol, apart from allowing Liz a glass of wine with their evening meal. No more. There was such a delightful collection of wines in the cellar that it would have been a shame not to taste them. He promised to do the same, and locked down his bottles of whisky to avoid temptation.

He showed Liz the fitness room. The fitness program was a special training routine set up by Dembe. The room was filled with bikes, skipping ropes and all sorts of other gym equipment. Liz raised her eyebrows, trying to imagine Reddington using any of it.

And failing.

"You often …"

She didn't need to say any more. He gave her a deeply offended look and then took off his vest and tie, stretched out on the gym carpet and produced a set of twenty push-ups without any visible signs of weakness. Liz watched him, speechless.

However, once he had finished, the effect was rather spoiled by the breathlessness he tried hard to disguise and the fact that he couldn't stand up.

Liz burst out laughing and, helpless on the floor, Reddington could only roll over onto his back and chuckle in between gasping for breath.

"Perhaps ... I'm ... not ... as ... fit ... as ... I ... thought!" he managed. All he had really achieved was a stabbing pain in his still not-quite-healed chest wound.

He looked up into her laughing face and realised that he had achieved more than that with his ridiculous teenage antics, and that made it worth the biting pain and feeling rather like an idiot.

He accepted the hand she offered to help him stand up.

"So ... on a more serious note ... every morning ... one hour on the bikes ... and then the exercise regime Dembe has put in place ... he never lacks imagination when it comes to such things."

"No outdoor activities?"

"We have mountain bikes but the terrain out there is quite uneven."

"So, Inside will be perfect!" she giggled. Her mocking laugh was well deserved, after all. He had never been a word-class athlete but he was ready to show her there was more to him than the miserable demonstration she had just seen.

The second part of the day was more intellectual. Liz had tons of information to assimilate in order to better understand the Alliance and Reddington had to juggle between what was truly useful for her and what was a threat for her. He was walking on hot coals and he knew he was not really good at this when it came to Liz.

Sitting on his bed, he unfolded a large map that displayed all the Alliance's recent positions that he was currently aware of. Africa, Asia, Russia, they were everywhere, managing the world their own way.

"Where do these people get their power from?" she asked.

"The humble citizen imagines that the world is governed by the politicians he elected, " he started explaining. "Even though he tends to credit them with little trust, he stays quite convinced that the system is working well; and as long as he's got a job, a roof over his head and a decent school for his children to go to, everything is fine. The truth is that all that is just a smokescreen. Politicians aren't the leaders. The real power is in the hands of international companies, banks, traders … it's where the Alliance has been putting its own markers for dozens of years. And it's how they build the world the man in the street is naively living in."

"It sounds like the global conspiracy theory that some people tend to believe in. "

"It's far more subtle than that. The Alliance is not strictly speaking a secret organisation which has all its members working together for the same goal. Instead, it's a balance. All the members have their own individual interests and they are trying to change the power balance to serve these interests.

It's a sort of chess game where the king is the one who convinces his adversaries to join his camp and collectively increase their power.

At present it's the Director who pulls the strings. He's convinced that a bipolar world is easier to lead than the one that exists right now.

That's why he's working relentlessly to provoke a new Cold War."

"But isn't it in our common interests to have such balance?"

"The Alliance causes wars, bankrupts governments; it's responsible for just about all the disasters that impacts on our societies, except the natural ones. Everyone who tries to stop them is threatened and then, if they don't back down, killed. Often their families are killed as well."

They were back to what they were talking about on the day they arrived. Liz still had one question that she was struggling to ask. She gritted her teeth and asked it anyway. "Why didn't you talk about this earlier?"

"I had no real intention of involving you in that mess."

"But the Cabal, the threats, your escape …"

"Would you have believed me?" he asked. "You studied my official profile when you were at Quantico. One of the FBI's most wanted criminals lands in your life ... and criminals are notorious liars ... I couldn't take the risk that you wouldn't believe me, or that you would run away." He paused. "And I had time ... "

"Had … ?"

"The Alliance changed their plans, all this hustle and bustle has made them nervous."

"And the Fulcrum, why did you wait so long to get it back?"

"Lizzie, I never really needed the Fulcrum. The Alliance's major players at the time when I went underground were convinced that I had it and that was enough. I was the only person who knew that in fact _you_ had it. That was enough for me to be able to blackmail them into leaving me alone.

The only reason why I came close to you was because of Tom ... and Berlin ... I had no idea what danger was threatening you. I had no choice. I didn't know how else to protect you from Tom; so I had no choice.

Of course, it put me in the spotlight and the Alliance started to mistrust me even more than they did already. Alan Fitch had been defending my position, keeping the Alliance off my back for a long time, but then his position was threatened and ... well, you know what happened next."

Red paused, before continuing, "It's all my fault. If I hadn't hired Tom, I would still be dealing with my business and you would be working as a talented profiler for the FBI. We might never have met."

"Without the Fulcrum you would be dead!"

"My life has no value, Lizzie!" he said and she was devastated to realise that he truly meant this. "I would never have forced you to give it to me, whatever the consequences."

"Your life is important to the people who are close to you, Dembe, Mr. Kaplan ..."

"That's as maybe, but I could disappear ... or die ... tomorrow and everything is in place for them to be able to carry on and cope without me."

"Stop talking about planning, or managing without you! Whatever you may think, people care for you, love you."

"Lizzie, I put them in danger more than anyone else!"

She stared at him, on the verge of tears.

"You're important to me, do you not get that?"

She was holding his gaze, he looked away. He understood but he didn't want to truly accept it. He was scared.

She turned on her heels and walked away, locking herself in her bedroom. The discussion had gone south ... again.

He didn't want to die. If he had, he could easily have given up and shot himself at any point in the last twenty-five years. What was keeping him alive was the need to work out how to defeat the Alliance, to keep pursuing them, to keep working against them. Knowing how they operated wasn't enough. He needed to know more. And he needed to protect and defend the people who could easily become their victims.

He had nothing to lose, so he was willing to take on the worst tasks; the tasks that left him with the worst nightmares; but at least he saved anyone else from suffering them.

But now, he had to admit that having Liz on his side was giving him hope: hope that he would one day fully understand what happened the night of the fire and, moreover, the hope that eventually he would finally be able to share the suffering from his past.

He had to wait for an hour until she came out of her bedroom; hearing her sobbing through the door was almost unbearable. Finally she came back to his room, traces of tears still visible on her cheeks.

He hadn't moved; sitting the whole time and thinking through possible solutions to a problem that might in fact have none.

He had been sitting still for so long that the cat had come and curled up beside him in the chair, purring quietly.

He scratched the cat behind the ears and tried to work things out; Liz and him ... it was ... complicated. He had to learn to deal with that.

He sensed her standing in the doorway waiting, clearly determined not to be the first to break the silence. So, finally he gave in. "I understand," he said, quietly, as to end a never ending dispute.

After a short pause she prompted him further. "But you're scared ..." and left the sentence unfinished by the inflection in her voice.

He looked up at her, shuddering to think that she understood him so well. He deserved the love of no one. And yet, deep inside he had an aching emptiness; a need to have someone who cared for him. And more and more he had been thinking about Liz ... caring for him. Because she had told him she did. And had told him to 'Deal with that.'

He didn't want to be a monster in her eyes any more. And ... maybe ... he wasn't.

Maybe she really did care.

He opened his mouth to reply but found himself merely nodding instead as words failed him.

And it was like a release of tension and emotion. A slight motion that was worth a thousand words.

He had to admit that Liz was the only person who could truly understand him. With the possible exception of Dembe.

And he was going to have to spend the rest of his life on her side, or, hopefully, _by_ her side, but certainly keeping an eye on her from near or from afar so he needed to get his head around the fact that she cared.

The rest of the day was calmer. Cooking, however, was becoming an exercise in itself! They were either going to end up with food poisoning or starving and both were regretting that Dembe hadn't scheduled in some cooking lessons in between their fitness exercises, which would have at least had the advantage of distracting them from the tedious - according to Reddington - fitness regime!

After dinner they firmly set both the Fulcrum and the Alliance to one side and sat on the terrace while Reddington shared his knowledge of Russia with Liz. He talked for hours about the country, its history, its geography and the people he had met there; providing rambling, amusing anecdotes about incidents from his travels and visits told in his entrancing gravelly voice.

He enjoyed making her laugh and found, as their time together wore on, that what had once been a rare thing became something he was able to do more and more.

And so, with the cat curled up comfortably between them, he found they stayed up later and later and that she seemed gradually happier and more relaxed.

And gradually he grew ever more fearful and tense, because this bubble they were living in could not last forever.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Note:**_ _Last chapter of that fic. Certainly the most Lizzington chapter of the whole story. Hope that you enjoyed the journey. Thanks a lot to TheFirstFewChapters who reviewed the whole story. It's thanks to her that it looks nice and that the cat is back and purring._

It hadn't stopped raining for a couple of days. Reddington and Liz were keeping up with their Dembe-devised 'Sports and Strategy Analysis' programme, accompanied by various diverse attempts at Kitchen Survival 101 whereby they had both improved their culinary skills to the point where neither refused to eat anything the other cooked anymore.

One afternoon, after time spent deep in political discussion and debate, Liz finally suggested that they go and let off some steam before dinner by using the bikes in their gym. She was enjoying the fitness sessions and found them a good way to clear her head after she had been verbally sparring with Reddington or absorbing the Alliance's latest tactics and strategies. Red wasn't so keen. He stuck to the schedule Dembe had put together but after his designated time was up he was never very enthusiastic about doing any extra. Today was no exception. He kept her company for his scheduled hour, after which he decided to call it a day.

"I've had enough, Lizzie. You carry on."

So, as she had every other afternoon, she continued to cycle while Reddington went off to take a shower.

Therefore what happened was a complete accident. Or fate.

Today, for some reason, her back hurt, maybe a muscle strain or maybe she was over-tired, and she called her session off early. Red had made sure, on every other afternoon, that he had his bedroom door safely closed. Today, the cat, who had been lying on his bed decided, as felines will, that he wanted out and was going to scratch the door to pieces if he didn't get his way. So Red let him out. And left the door open, in case, as felines will, the cat should immediately change his mind and want to take possession of the centre of the bed again. And because Red didn't expect Lizzie to finish so soon he wasn't as careful as he should have been; she had, after all, been extending her cycling times day by day.

Which was why his door was open.

When she walked past.

And he was standing with his towel wrapped around his waist.

With his back to the door.

And so.

She saw.

He froze, knowing she was there.

Knowing what she seen.

He waited.

She whispered a barely audible, "Oh, Ray." Compassion spilled into her words. She stepped into his bedroom and he couldn't move. Only sense her moving closer and closer. He wanted to flinch away as he felt the very tips of her fingers brush lightly over his scarred back, but he forced himself to hold still, closing his eyes as her touch sent an involuntary shiver down his spine. No woman had dared to touch his back since the accident; they usually nimbly avoided that part of his body that he got used to hide.

Liz felt an attraction to the ravaged skin, like a magnetic pull. Her fingers were mapping out the landscape of Reddington's back as if it was telling her a story of pain and suffering. A story she knew only too well.

She placed her scarred palm against his scars and relived the memories from that night so long ago.

Finally, realisation cleared the horizon and shone a bright, clear light onto the past. "It wasn't my father who saved me that night ... it was you ..."

After a long pause, his voice, strained to near breaking point, began to explain. "Your screams led me to the closet where you were hiding, holding on to that toy rabbit. There was just enough time to grab you and then for us to manage to escape. There were flames everywhere. The room I had been in exploded with fire. If I hadn't heard you screaming and gone to find you ..."' He left the rest to her imagination.

"'So ... we saved each other. And since then, you've been trying to protect me."

"It's a bit more complicated than that."

"It's always more complicated with you."

It was indeed complicated. He, himself, didn't know everything that had happened that night. There was so much, still, that was a mystery to him; even after twenty-five years of following up possible clues. It seemed useless to talk about it anymore. He didn't want her to feel indebted to him because he had saved her life so long ago. After all, thanks to him her life was now ripped apart at the seams. Everything that she was going through was his fault. She could blame him for all what she was going through.

He had never planned to reveal his burned back to her. He had carefully hidden it under the layers of his three-piece suits, a neatly fastened shirt collar and a carefully knotted tie. The very few people who had seen them had feigned ignorance and avoided any awkward questions. Women had been attracted to the man of wealth, the powerful, influential criminal, whose mask he wore for the world to be deceived by. Few had looked carefully enough to see the sad, lonely man hidden behind the deflecting humour and confident seduction. Or wondered why he always kept his undershirt on. At least, they never asked.

He slowly forced himself to turn and face Liz. With his thumb, he wiped away a tear that was slipping down her cheek.

She could see that his chest was just as damaged. Close to the now all-but-healed fresh scar of his recent injury, there were other scars from other bullets, and what was clearly the evidence of torture that traced its way down his chest and abdomen; she was sure someone had burned his skin with the tip of a burning cigarette again and again and again.

She skimmed a cut that marked the side of his neck. "The chip ..." she whispered.

"I had it pulled out after the Cabal's strike. Connolly and the Director were tracing me because of it. Now it's somewhere offshore around Alaska."

She slowly and carefully circled her arms around his waist, as if he were fragile and would shatter at her touch. She remembered the times he had held her, after the music box finished playing and in the hold of that wretched ship as he tried to quietly comfort her. She rested her cheek against his shoulder and closed her eyes as she tried to truly understand all that had been revealed to her.

He wanted to pull away, even though it would cause him such deep pain to do so. He preferred it when she was distant and upset with him. It was so much easier to manage emotionally. This ... whatever *this* was ... was too painful. Because it couldn't last. He couldn't let it. The 'Thank you,' whispered against his chest seemed completely inappropriate; unnecessary. But he didn't want to breathe, to complain, to break the moment. He couldn't remember the last time someone had hugged him this way, without his protective undershirt shielding him.

As if barriers were finally crumbling he finally relaxed and passed his arms around Liz. And slowly, they held on tighter and tighter as if each considered the other to be a life vest that could save them from the turbulent seas that had overtaken them. Perhaps that's what they were: castaways from the shipwreck of their former lives, and now they were bound together no matter whatever happened next.

After a moment, Red began to feel uncomfortable standing half-naked in the middle of his bedroom holding Lizzie in his arms. The whole situation seemed so incongruous and he finally broke the silence with a half-embarrassed, "I need to finish getting dressed."

She hesitated a fraction before releasing him from her arms and taking a deep breath she inhaled the smell of him; cedar soap, fresh and soothing.

He wanted her to go and he wanted her to stay all in the same confusing instant: she was far too vulnerable for him to afford the slightest inappropriate gesture, and so she really needed to leave. And yet, more than anything in the world, he wanted her to stay.

He needed to tell her to go but his mouth refused to form the words, and while he hesitated she laid one hand on his bare chest and twined the other around the nape of his neck. Unable to resist the gentle yet urgent pull, his head leaned down and his lips met hers. He closed his eyes to forget that all this was real; enjoying a stolen moment he had never allowed himself. A few seconds of recklessness that he hoped he would not have to pay the price for.

But he was not ready for that, not now. He struggled to end this kiss and find a valuable excuse to justify his behavior. The fear to see her walk away again was scaring him.

"Lizzie …" He couldn't find the words. He had no excuse, "I can't…"

There were no words, no excuses to justify what he had done. And perhaps it was right and just that his punishment must surely be to see her turn away and leave. To watch her walk away from him now would leave him in the valley of the damned, trapped forever by an eternal loneliness from which he could never escape.

"Ray, I don't know why I stepped into your room ..." her voice trailed away into silence.

"There's nothing wrong."

He didn't know why he said such a thing. She had just discovered his most intimate secrete. He had kissed her …. Well she kissed him but he let her do so and he appreciated, he enjoyed it. "There's nothing wrong" … For sure, it was wrong, that on the top of everything else.

"I need to go to the bathroom."

And she left. As if nothing had happened.

His legs gave way beneath him and he found himself sitting on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands. Thoughts tumbled through his head like litter picked up and carried by a storm. He tried to stop the turmoil but nothing refuse to settle; instead all he gained was a headache as he thought of the likely consequences of his actions. He should have shown better self control. He should not have taken advantage of her the way that he had.

When she quietly came back and stood in the doorway some time later, Reddington was lying on the sofa.

"Either you drive me downtown to buy some clothes or we have to do some laundry. I found some of your clothes lying around and have used them because I have nothing left to put on."

Raising his head, he feasted in the endearing sight; she looked almost like a clown in his too large t-shirt and rather shapeless jogging pants and yet she was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. Was he reading too much into the fact that she was wearing his clothes?

"Lizzie, please come and sit next to me."

She sat and he continued. "What happened earlier ... "

"Do we really have to talk about that?"

"We can talk about the weather forecast but that's quite boring these days."

There was a long pause. Then, "Ray, I'm ashamed. I don't know what else to say. Less than a week ago I threw myself into Tom's arms. He seemed so adorable, so kind. He wanted to offer me a new life, far away from everything, from my problems, from … you. He made it all sound so plausible, so real. It all sounded so ... possible. I found myself trusting him."

"That's not what …" he interrupted.

"We made love!" she almost yelled, "I thought I was happy on his boat, in his arms …"

Reddington found himself suddenly breaking out in a cold sweat. Tom …

"But then we discovered Andropov's USB key, found about the manipulation behind Cooper's health problems, Connolly … my memories … and now …. That's in your arms that I … I'm sorry … I feel so ashamed!"

He tried to ignore what she had just said. It was not the subject he wanted to talk about.

"I should have stopped you. But I didn't … I'm as full of guilt as you are. More so. About a great many things."

He paused before leading the discussion to what he really had in mind. "Lizzie, since the first day I saw you at the Post Office I have had a strange feeling. You remind me so much about …"

"Your daughter?"

His throat closed.

"No … not really … my daughter, I abandoned her when she was a child. I don't even know what she looks like now."

"You never tried to find her?"

"She hates me … she ran away. She has no reason to meet me."

He tried to smile as if what he just said was obvious.

"… so my mother?"

"You know I can't tell you everything."

"It's complicated, I know."

"There's a reason for that. And one day you'll come to understand. And I'll be able to tell you more. But ... for now ... I'm sorry, Lizzie. I can't."

"It's always seemed to me that you had some random connection to me that meant you just needed to protect me. But now," she looked at him and waited until he looked back at her, "now, I know more. Not everything. But enough for now. Whatever else there is ... will just have to wait."

She had changed. She seemed to trust him. He had to be careful not to break what was still a fragile trust.

He took her hand and held it carefully, seeming to chew the inside of his cheek before he spoke again. "You're not the girl I remember from so long ago. Not anymore. You're a woman. And you ... impress me."

"Ray, I have no idea where all this is going to lead us." She dared to look into his eyes. "You're a seductive ... endearing ... man. Being this close to you during our time on the run means I no longer see you the way I used to. I don't really know where I stand. Where *we* stand. There's so much between us. But ... I think that together we're stronger. Together we can succeed. We just have to find a balance. We just have to help each other."

He was seductive … endearing?

His heart was beating so hard he was half certain it was going to explode.

"We'll make it, Lizzie, yes. Together we'll succeed."

He was just repeating her words. Words that magically seemed to make everything seem so easy.

Even if it was only for the time they looked into each other's eyes.

She leaned into him and he took her gently in his arms. She smelt like jasmine and he wanted to inhale her scent forever. And after a time they settled down on the couch and she snuggled up against him. They didn't share a single word. Somehow there was no need. Her eyes gradually closed and he felt her breathing grow slower and more even. And he felt his own eyes close. They needed just this. This togetherness. In each other's arms. Knowing that they were caring for each other. Nothing more.

ooooooooooOOOoooooooooo

When Dembe stepped into the living room, having let himself in using his own key, what surprised him was not seeing them both on the couch, it was more seeing them sleeping together like hibernating bears. However, smiling quietly to himself, he began unloading the supplies he had brought, waiting for the sound of his movements to disturb them. Surprisingly, nothing seemed to wake them. The only one who paid him any attention was Raymond… the cat who purred like a train and rubbed up against his legs in welcome.

Because he had the time, he started preparing dinner and finally the noise of the pans as he moved them around woke Red and Liz.

Reddington stepped into the kitchen, arms raised, and welcomed him like the savior. "Dembe! I'm so happy to see you back!" He hugged and kissed him.

"Raymond! I've never known you sleep through anything. I suppose, sub-consciously, you knew it was me? Otherwise ..." Dembe didn't need to outline his fears in any greater detail.

Reddington shrugged and gave a sheepish smile. "Well, I suppose I must have … I didn't even notice … When did you arrive?"

"About two hours ago. I was trying to get things done without making any noise."

"Oh … well…!"

Reddington couldn't believe it. He had not felt so well rested since ... he couldn't remember when!

"So, tell me, my friend, how did these days go while you were isolated from the world?" Dembe asked.

"They were … ok, yes, ok."

"Looking at the state of this pan I believe your cooking talents have not improved a great deal?"

Dembe held up the pan that Liz had burned on their first day and which, so far, they had not bothered to clean. Reddington didn't feel like telling tales out of school, and besides, he really had nothing to brag about so far as culinary skills were concerned.

Instead, he tried to head Dembe away from the topic of his and Lizzie's cooking. "That's … well … we were eagerly waiting for you! You can't imagine how much I've missed the taste of your delicious cooking. "

They laughed together. He had missed Dembe so much. He was always there to boost his morale and give him well-needed advice, especially about Liz …

She stepped in the kitchen with a large grin on her face, as happy as Reddington to see Dembe again.

They sat down at the table and Dembe watched them eating his food like starving people. He was glad it seemed to please them so much.

After dinner and much praise for Dembe's culinary offerings, the three of them settled down in the living room for serious discussions about all that had happened in the last few days. Dembe related all that he had learned about the Task Force's failed efforts to trace them and also what he knew about the Cabal's pursuit as well. It seemed, in both cases, Red's and Lizzie's trail had grown cold and their enemies were presently baffled and confused as to their whereabouts, which was a relief, for now.

After a long while, Dembe suggested putting some music on. Liz was surprised to see him stand up and go over to the piano in the corner of the room. Sitting down he initiated a salsa tune.

A few bars later, Reddington met Liz's gaze. She seemed to enjoy the Cuban rhythms. He stood up and reached out to her, inviting her for a dance.

"Just one dance?" She hesitated a couple of seconds before taking his hand and getting to her feet. "I've never been really good with salsa …"

"Let me show you," he said smiling at her with devastating charm. He circled her waist with his free arm, while gently resting his other hand, which held her own hand, against his heart. He started with a few simple steps before getting more and more excited as Dembe was playing new melodies, winking discreetly to him.

They spent the rest of the evening dancing and laughing. Forgetting for a moment all the stress around them. Somehow Liz felt safe, despite the dangers she knew were still out there waiting for her.

But most of all ... she knew she was loved.

And with Dembe on their side, things could only improve. Moments of peace for them all before they had to face the reality of life on the run again; before they had to continue the fight to clear Lizzie's name; before they had to take on the Alliance once more.

Now, was a time of rest and recuperation. And healing. And learning. About each other.

Unseen, the cat jumped up onto the sofa and tucked his paws under his chin as he curled up in a ball. After watching the humans carefully for a while, he decided that, for now, all was right with the world, and after purring contentedly for a while ... slept.


End file.
